


Adult Dectet Gathering of the Bottoms: Pariston Calls Ging Daddy

by kiboutozetsubou, youreyestheyglow



Series: Adult Septet: The Boys Are Back In Town [3]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alcohol, Beyonce - Freeform, Drinking Games, Everybody Wants to Fuck Chrollo - Lorde, Fish, M/M, YODELING, chrollo's baps, gay baby jail, monopoly, murder for pay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 16:13:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18876658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiboutozetsubou/pseuds/kiboutozetsubou, https://archiveofourown.org/users/youreyestheyglow/pseuds/youreyestheyglow
Summary: Adult Quintet goes to Ging's house to get drunk. Pariston wants revenge for his destroyed house. Everyone has a good time, except maybe Ging.





	Adult Dectet Gathering of the Bottoms: Pariston Calls Ging Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> this is a series now with two crack fics and one dead-serious one in between

paristonhillofficial: Guess what everyone! We’re having another get-together!

freecsshow420: kite told me i wasnt allowed to go out with you guys anymore

paristonhillofficial: Oh, right, I completely understand that. That’s why I’ve decided we’re going to have it at your place!

freecsshow420: wtf

elasticlover: oooo, will kite be there? <3

blackwidow666: Somehow I don’t see that happening.

freecsshow420: hey woah back tf off hisoka

freecsshow420: this shit isnt happening pariston

paristonhillofficial: I think we should put this matter up to a vote, don’t you?

freecsshow420: NO

elasticlover: i vote yes <>

freecsshow420: iS ANYONE EVEN LISTENING TO ME

blackwidow666: Can I abstain from voting?

paristonhillofficial: Everyone has to vote, or I’m going to call for a re-election.

blackwidow666: Well, in that case, I’ll vote yes.

freecsshow420: what the fuck chrollo???????

paristonhillofficial: I vote yes as well, and I’m going to assume Ging’s vote is a no.

paristonhillofficial: Unfortunately, you’ve been out-voted, Ging.

freecsshow420: well too bad the vote doesnt fucking count anyway because were not all here

pinsandneedles: I vote yes.

freecsshow420: god DAMN IT

paristonhillofficial: Thank you everyone! I’m glad you all agree that this is the best course of action.

elasticlover: i can’t wait to see ging’s house o8<

freecsshow420: yeah you better be talking about my house and not my fucking husband

freecsshow420: ill knock your fucking teeth out clown

blackwidow666: I would recommend not threatening Hisoka like that.

pinsandneedles: Agreed. You do realize that will only encourage him.

elasticlover: <3 ;)

freecsshow420: i hate all of you

paristonhillofficial: Next Friday at 8, then?

freecsshow420: i never fucking agreed to this shit

freecsshow420: ur “elections” mean NOTHING to me

paristonhillofficial: That’s unfortunate, but I do hope you remember quite well exactly how much our last rendezvous cost me.

paristonhillofficial: I can’t think of a better way for you to repay me than to offer your house this time around and pay for all of the alcohol!

freecsshow420: WHY ME

freecsshow420: CHROLLO AND ILLUMI CAUSED MOST OF THE DAMAGE

blackwidow666: That’s true, but I think he just dislikes you, Ging.

paristonhillofficial: Hmm, they can repay me some other way.

paristonhillofficial: So do you understand now, Ging?

freecsshow420: no

paristonhillofficial: Great! We’ll see you on Friday!

paristonhillofficial: I like mimosas, by the way. :D

freecsshow420: FUCK YOU AND YOUR MIMOSAS

elasticlover: are we giving ging our drink orders? i’m partial to cosmos. <3<

pinsandneedles: Any sort of vodka is fine with me.

pinsandneedles: Please buy it in large quantities.

blackwidow666: Dirty martini on the rocks. Thanks, Ging.

freecsshow420: …………………………………

 

Ging really hates his friends. Could they even be called his friends? He doesn’t even really like any of them, but he hangs out with all of them often enough that he could’ve fooled even himself.

“Babe,” he calls into the living room. “Those fuckers I hang out with sometimes are gonna come over here on Friday, just don’t let them in.”

Kite appears in the doorway, a deep frown etched onto his face. “If I don’t let them in, our door will end up like Pariston’s last time. I thought you weren’t drinking with them anymore?”

Ging groans, burying his face in his hands. “Me too, but Pariston’s a fucking dick.”

“Well, I guess you do owe him.”

“No I don’t!” Ging practically shrieks. “I wasn’t the one who broke his door down and drilled a hole in his precious marble floors!”

“Maybe not, but you did nearly rip his dick off,” Kite says with more amusement than Ging really appreciates right now.

“Did I do that? I don’t remember. Too drunk.”

“You have selective memory of when you’re drunk, you know that?”

“Anyway, whose side are you on?” Ging changes the subject.

Kite walks past him, heading to the kitchen. “I’m on the side of whatever minimizes our property damage,” he calls back. “Just stay sober and watch them.”

“You’re gonna leave me with them?” Ging tries to ask, but Kite’s gone.

He knows he was the one who imposed the sort-of “rule” that Kite wasn’t going to drink with them, but he could totally make an exception for right now. This time Kite’s getting off easy. He doesn’t have to deal with any of those assholes and he gets to push all the responsibility on Ging if something goes wrong.

Ging sighs and regretfully follows Kite into the kitchen to check their supplies of champagne and orange juice.

He really hates Pariston.

It’s Friday night and Kite conveniently decided to go with Spinner and those guys to go investigate a new species of gay shark or something.

Ging doesn’t really pay attention to those animal things as much as he should.

The point is that he’s alone in the house by the time Pariston’s obnoxious limo pulls up blasting Nelly Furtado. Ging watches despairingly from the window as they all pile out of the car and walk up to the door.

The doorbell rings and he seriously considers not answering it, but Kite’s voice in his head gives him the encouragement to answer.

“You’re late,” he says needlessly as he opens the door to Pariston’s sparkling face.

“I said eight-thirty, didn’t I?” Pariston says off-handedly, walking past Ging into the house.

“You said eight.” Ging deadpans.

Pariston virtually ignores him and makes his way into the kitchen. Ging is about to follow him before he hears “Hmm, I think he said eight-thirty,” and turns to see Hisoka prodding at the vase by the doorway, a priceless archaeological artifact that Ging discovered himself. Illumi is watching him and Chrollo hangs back by the doorway as usual.

“Hey!” Ging yells at Hisoka. “Everyone in the kitchen.”

He herds them all into the kitchen, where Pariston is apparently appraising the decor.

“It’s _cute_ ,” he supplies in the most condescending tone Ging has ever heard.

Ging ignores him and moves to wordlessly begin mixing drinks. As much as he doesn’t like the idea of serving these guys when they’re all perfectly capable of doing it themselves, he hears Kite’s voice in his head again and that helps him make it through. Just deal with it, appease that rat bastard, and nobody’s house has to get hurt.

“Why isn’t Kite here?” Hisoka whines, sitting down at the kitchen bar and snatching up his drink as soon as Ging sets it down.

“You’re very eager to see him,” Chrollo observes innocently, sitting beside him and swishing his own drink around.

Hisoka smirks around the rim of his glass. “I can’t be the _only_ one.”

Ging clenches his fist and the glass in his hand shatters. Oops.

Hisoka and Chrollo shut up and turn to look at him. Well, good. That conversation wasn’t going anywhere he wanted it to.

“Hisoka, don’t you have your own fucking boyfriend?” Ging snaps at him.

Hisoka turns to look at said boyfriend and Ging follows his gaze. Illumi is bent over and staring unblinkingly into the fish tank in the dining room. The fish are staring unblinkingly back at him.

There’s a moment of silence.

“It gets a bit hard to tell the difference, doesn’t it?” Chrollo remarks with a smile.

“I am not a fish,” Illumi says, straightening up and walking over to the bar. “However, I plan to drink like one tonight. Ging, I requested vodka.”

“Yeah, hang on, let me--”

Illumi takes the vodka bottle out of his hands and tips it back. One-fourth of it is gone in a matter of seconds.

Hisoka giggles.

Ging sighs.

Any hope he had of this night being relatively tame is being quickly dashed before his very eyes.

Somewhere between his second or third shot Ging decides to ignore Kite’s suggestion not to drink. By the time he makes it to his seventh he forgets about the conversation entirely.

He knows, however, that there’s a reason why he isn’t chronicling the night’s events through snapchats to Kite like he usually does. It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t remember the reason; he knows that there is one, and probably a very good one, so he refrains.

Approximately three hours after everyone arrives Ging finds himself stretched out on his living room floor naked except for a minions thong. Actually, everyone else is in the exact same attire. They all came wearing their matching minions thongs, knitted by Illumi. Said mentally-unstable assassin was openly upset at Ging for not wearing his own minions thong, and Ging didn’t want to argue over the matter--for the reasons why, see “mentally-unstable assassin”--so he changed.

The stereo is blasting Beyonce’s “Countdown” and Pariston is dancing rather terribly to it while balancing a lampshade on his head. Hisoka is jumping between the three couches, and Ging suspects he must have bungee-gummed himself to them because there’s no way he hasn’t fallen off yet. Illumi is talking rather animatedly to the fish tank and Chrollo is in the corner, a Bible open in his lap while he lip-syncs Beyonce with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Ging sits up, too quickly because his entire world spins. With a hiccup he loudly announces, “This is our song! This is me and Kite’s song!”

“Why?” Pariston giggles, his words slightly muffled by the lampshade. “Because it’s counting down the days until he breaks up with you?”

“You fucking--” Ging scrambles to get to his feet. “You little shit, when I get up you’re _dead_.”

His flailing knocks about three half-filled red cups over and alcohol spills generously into the carpet. By the time he gets to his feet he thinks maybe he should care about that, but in the next second an arm is thrown over his shoulders and he’s pulled in close and his world spins again.

“Now, now, let’s not fight,” Hisoka coos. He has one arm each around Ging and a now-lampshadeless Pariston. “We’re all friends, aren’t we?"

“Since when don’t _you_ want to fight, Hisoka?” Illumi drawls from his spot over by the fish tank.

“I’m in a friendly mood,” Hisoka responds with a predatory smile. To illustrate his friendly mood, his hands trail down to rest appreciatively on his friends’ asses.

Ging shoves him violently away. “Fucking pervert clown.”

“Hisoka, did you touch someone without their permission again?” Illumi’s face is as blank as always, but his voice is like ice.

Hisoka quickly folds his hands behind his back. “No.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Illumi stalks over to him, and it would’ve been more intimidating if he wasn’t stumbling. Or wearing a minions thong.

Hisoka throws his hands up. “Illumi, darling, I swear I didn’t--”

He actually looks a little frightened and Ging is relishing in this fact, so he’s a bit disappointed when Pariston breaks into the moment with a loud, “Oh, I just remembered something!”

Everyone turns to look at him. “What?” Ging asks, thinking this can’t possibly lead anywhere good.

“I said before that I would have Chrollo and Illumi repay me, didn’t I?” Pariston recalls with a suddenly-devious smile. “I still haven’t thought of anything…”

“You’d better think of something,” Ging grumbles. “I’m not going to be the only one suffering because of your dumb property damages.”

“You know, I wouldn’t _particularly_ mind that,” Pariston says. “But fair’s fair, I guess. They _do_ owe me.”

Illumi blinks slowly at him. “Do you require repayment in the form of sex?” As he asks this, he hitches one finger under the waistband of his minions thong, ready to pull it down at a moment’s notice.

“Illumi, I thought we talked about this,” Hisoka says with a pout.

“We did. We concluded that I have bodily autonomy and can have sex with whoever I want. Or in this case, anyone I am contractually obligated to.”

“I agree,” Pariston says gleefully, probably just to be an ass.

“As much as I hate to side with the fuckin’ rat in any way, shape, or form,” Ging cuts in, scratching his neck and swaying a bit where he stands. “Hisoka, I think it’s kinda weird that you don’t want Illumi to have sex with Pariston.”

“I don’t see what’s weird about it. He’s my boyfriend.”

“Just two weeks ago I walked in on him balls-deep in Chrollo while you watched!”

“Chrollo is different,” Hisoka says sagely. “Very different.”

They all turn quietly to look at Chrollo, who’s still seated in the corner, crying. “And Jesus answered, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me,’” he whispers.

_Look at those bappers,_ Ging finds himself thinking appreciatively.

“I guess you’re right,” he concedes.

“Chrollo can still repay me with sex,” Pariston points out happily.

Lorde’s “Everybody Wants to Rule the World,” starts playing in the background. Ging thinks they should record a new song titled “Everybody Wants to Fuck Chrollo.”

“You wish,” Ging jeers at him. “Who would wanna have sex with you?”

Pariston cocks his head at him, puzzled. “Ging, don’t you remember that one time when you and I--”

Ging has never clamped his hands over his own ears faster than that. He screams incoherently, all the while cursing his selective drunk memory.

He only stops screaming when his mouth is suddenly bungee-gummed shut. Then he begins flailing, trying to get it off. Hisoka giggles and Illumi admonishes him for trying to start a fight.

“HeY gUyS, pLaY iT cOoL,” Gamzee says from the corner.

“I agree with the clown,” Hisoka declares.

“You _are_ the clown,” Ging mutters.

“Excuse me,” Hisoka objects, “I am an evil magician who would like to remain anonymous.”

“Your dick is out right now,” Illumi says, adjusting Hisoka’s thong.

Ging takes a deep breath. Gamzee is right. And if things get too worked up, they’ll make a mess, and Kite will be pissed.

Speaking of.

There’s alcohol on that carpet. Who did that? Ging mutters to himself on the way to the kitchen. These people. He’s _going_ to kill them. It will take time. It will take work. It will take paper towels. Cleaning up alcohol will take paper towels.

Ging gets paper towels.

When he returns to the living room, Pariston is coaxing Chrollo out of his corner with Bible verses.

“‘Come out of the corner,’ Jesus told his disciples,” Pariston is saying. “Come out of the corner.”

Chrollo wipes his eyes. “What verse is that, again?”

“It’s John 4:13.”

“Liar. John 4:13 is ‘Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again.’”

“Same thing.”

Ging goes back to looking at Chrollo’s tits again and thinks that this verse is pretty fitting indeed.

“Heresy,” Chrollo says.

Ging decides that, yeah, he would drinketh of that milk, and thirst again.

Speaking of. Ging remembers he’s holding paper towels, and he remembers why.

“Nice ass,” Hisoka yells as Ging bends over to soak up the alcohol. By the time Ging looks up, Hisoka looks like he wishes he’d kept his mouth shut. “What?” He asks defensively. “It is.”

“It is,” Pariston says appreciatively. “You could _punch_ me, and as long as I got to see that ass, I’d be okay with it."

Ging’s not the only one looking askance at Pariston, but he doesn’t seem to notice, sticking his leg gently in Ging’s direction, like he’s showing off his goddamn calf.

Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” comes on.

“Daddy,” Pariston says.

Ging hears an unholy screech leave his mouth. “I’m _married_ ! I am _married_!”

“Are you?” Pariston asks.

Ging considers this. Maybe he and Kite are not actually married. He doesn’t really remember right now. What matters is that he doesn’t want Pariston to call him Daddy ever again.

“This is getting boring,” Hisoka decides, plopping down on the floor and producing another bottle of alcohol out of seemingly nowhere, probably his ass, since he’s hardly wearing anything. “Let’s play a party game! Spin the bottle, perhaps?”

“I don’t think any of us needs to play spin the bottle to kiss each other,” Illumi points out.

“Again—married,” Ging reminds everyone.

“Why don’t we play Never Have I Ever?” Pariston offers, with what could only be described as an evil grin on his face. Though aren’t all of his grins evil, by default?

Ging instantly has a bad feeling about this.

But. Well. He doesn’t have any _other_ ideas, and if they’re not going to leave, they need to be occupied, like the children they are. And anyway, he vaguely remembers seeing the back of the liquor cabinet, so if they make this a drinking game, he could have them all out of the house and on their way home in half an hour. “Great! We’ll do that.”

He empties the liquor cabinet and returns to find all of his thong-clad friends in a circle, with enough space left between Pariston and Hisoka for him. He pours shots, passes them out, and waits.

His dumbass drinking buddies sit in silence.

“Who’s going first?” he asks.

“I will,” Hisoka says. “Never have I ever bottomed.”

Drinks tip bottoms up; fingers go down. Ging refills everyone’s shot glasses, including his own.

“Who have you fucked?” Chrollo asks Pariston.

Pariston stares blankly at him.

“Bottoming means someone put a dick in your ass,” Ging informs Pariston.

“I know that,” Pariston replies snootily.

“Do you really? Because you just said you’ve bottomed.”

“I have.”

“Who did you fuck? Who fucked _you_?”

Pariston shrugs. “None of your business, bottom.”

Ging’s drunken selective memory decides to recall what Pariston had sort of been saying earlier, with some abject horror. “It wasn’t me, right?”

Pariston looks wistful. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So who fucked you?” Hisoka asks.

“Not telling.”

“But like, who was it?” Hisoka asks, leaning in a little closer. Ging leans back, out of his way.

“Ging, if you don’t go, I’m taking your turn,” Pariston commands, and God, but Ging doesn’t like the tone of his voice.

“Fine. Never have I ever committed murder,” Ging says. Hisoka, Chrollo, and Pariston dutifully put a finger down. “Illumi, put your goddamn finger down."

Illumi’s finger stays up, and his shot stays undrunk. “I don’t murder. I assassinate.”

“That’s murder. Put your finger down.”

“If it’s for pay, it’s not murder,” he insists.

Hisoka reaches over and tucks one of Illumi’s fingers down. He shrugs when Illumi turns his big-ass fish eyes on him. “Shut up,” he says. “It’s fucking murder.”

Illumi drinks.

“ _It’s not murder_ ,” Ging mutters. “So pretentious.”

Pariston smiles.

Suddenly Ging feels his stomach drop out his ass. This isn’t going to be good.

“Never have I ever fucked Kite,” Pariston announces.

Hisoka and Illumi go completely still. Ging very nearly shatters the glass in his hand again. The only reason he doesn’t is, because, deep down, he sort of had a feeling something like this was going to come out of Pariston’s mouth.

“You can refill his fucking glass,” Ging says after downing his shot. “And one day, you rat fucking bastard, I’m going to kill you.”

Pariston refills Chrollo’s shot. “But not today,” he says cheerfully.

“Silence, bottom,” Ging says.

“You’re a bottom!”

“Yeah, but like, to _Kite_ . That’s a goddamn _experience_. You’ve probably bottomed for--like--” His mouth flaps as he searches his foggy, empty brain for names. “Netero, or something.”

Pariston flushes a delicate pink. “Ex _cuse_ me?”

Ging smiles. “Netero. Or someone.”

Pariston flips his head around to glare at Chrollo. “Your turn. _Go_.”

“Hm…” Chrollo thinks for a long moment. It doesn’t appear that there are many things that he _hasn’t_ done. “Never have I ever… been in a relationship.”

Hisoka, Ging, and Illumi all take drinks and put a finger down.

Ging looks at Pariston. Pariston stubbornly ignores him.

“Never have I ever called someone Daddy... sexually,” Illumi says.

“Does _ironically_ calling someone Daddy, sexually, count?” Hisoka asks.

“Yes.”

Chrollo, Hisoka, and Pariston drink.

“Netero?” Ging asks Pariston innocently.

“ _You_ ,” Pariston says. “Not ten minutes ago!”

“But was that the _first_ time you said it?”

“Never have I ever committed genocide,” Hisoka says, moving on.

Pariston and Chrollo drink, and Ging reflects for a moment on the moral implications of sitting in a room with two genocidal mass murderers and not caring too much. Or, really, the moral implications of wanting them both dead, but for _totally_ unrelated reasons.

“Never have I ever dyed my hair,” Ging says, smiling as Pariston and Hisoka drink.

“Never have I ever had an mpreg baby,” Pariston says, loudly.

Ging raises his glass. “And it was one of the best decisions I ever made,” he says, before tipping his glass back.

“Never have I ever felt remorse for killing,” Chrollo says, hiccupping.

Ging looks around. No one moves a muscle.

Crickets chirp out the window.

“God, you really are all awful people,” Ging muses aloud, as though he’s just now realizing this.

“Is it my turn?” Illumi asks, sounding utterly bored with the insinuation that he would ever feel remorse.

“Yeah.” Chrollo sounds just a bit defeated. Maybe even disappointed.

“Never have I ever kissed Chrollo,” Illumi says.

Pariston takes a shot and drops a finger.

“Didn’t you fuck Chrollo?” Ging asks Illumi.

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t kiss him.”

“No. I _do_ have a boyfriend.”

“Ah.” Ging deadpans. “Of course.”

“Never have I ever been double-penetrated,” Hisoka says, winking at Illumi.

Chrollo and Illumi put fingers down.

“Never have I ever been _triple_ -penetrated,” Ging says.

He doesn’t really expect anything to come from this, but Illumi puts another finger down. “I was winning before this…” he mutters, sullenly.

“Never have I ever used a public bathroom,” Pariston says.

“Are we just gonna--just--ignore that?” Ging asks, gaping a little at Illumi.

Hisoka winks frantically.

Chrollo begins, “Never have I ever…”

This time it becomes altogether apparent that he really can’t think of anything he hasn’t done. And has maybe stopped really trying, after last round didn’t net him any result at all.

Five minutes of silence later, Illumi asks, “Is it my turn?”

“Yeah,” Chrollo says, defeated once again.

“Never have I ever played Monopoly.”

Ging’s jaw hits the floor. “You haven’t--?”

Pariston slams his shot and slams his glass on the floor. “You _haven’t_?”

“ _You?”_ Chrollo splutters as he downs his shot.

“Well, we _have_ to,” Pariston says, “But not until Ging drinks his shot.”

Ging drinks his shot and throws his glass at a wall. “We can’t play! Pariston’s a dirty fucking rat -- rat capitalist and he’ll _win_.”

At that precise moment, all of the shots he has drunk throughout this game decide to hit him all at once, and Ging promptly blacks out.

The next thing he knows, [[redacted]] has been declared the apparent winner of Never Have I Ever, and Chrollo is in a corner, facing the wall, yodeling softly.

“It’s his punishment,” Illumi says, noticing Ging staring. “Also, you’re losing.”

Ging looks at his hands, which are holding two $50 bills. He owns Mediterranean Ave. He looks at Pariston, who owns Park Place and Broadway as well as two other complete series, and has a hotel on each. “I fucking _told_ you all the dirty rat bastard capitalist would win,” he says.

Pariston looks at him, eyebrows pulled together. “You’ve left your car on Broadway for the past ten rounds, muttering about proving everyone right. You haven’t even been rolling the dice.”

**(a/n: this is comedy gold js)**

Ging rolls his eyes and the room shifts for a minute. He looks down at the board. “What piece am I?”

“The car,” Chrollo says from the corner.

Ging locates the car. It’s on Broadway. “Fuck. _Fuck_ ! Well, shit, I guess you get Mediterranean too, since $100 sure as hell isn’t enough to pay _that_ off.” He tosses his two bills at Pariston. They’re paper, though, so they kind of just catch the air and float off towards Hisoka, who catches them and adds them to the pile.

“What?” Hisoka says, looking at an apparently homicidal Pariston. “You can take Mediterranean. But he threw the bills at _me_.”

“You could’ve just rolled the dice. You’d have passed Go. You’d have collected $200,” Illumi says. “You might have even landed on Mediterranean and not had to pay anything.”

“What?” Ging asks.

Pariston gently drives Ging’s car off the lot and, making small _vroom_ noises, over to park (crookedly, Ging notices--what a shitty fucking driver) next to Pariston’s stack of $500s.

“Goddamn, I don’t even get to drive around anymore?” Ging asks indignantly. “That was all I had left!”

“I’ve repossessed your car,” Pariston says, like Ging somehow hadn’t noticed. “You owe me more than--than--” He appears to work very hard at thinking for a moment, and then says, “Than $100 plus whatever Mediterranean was worth. And Hisoka stole the $100 anyway.”

“Give him back the car,” Illumi says. “That’s punishment above and beyond the crime.”

“Don’t,” Hisoka commands. “An ass that fine shouldn’t be hidden in a car.”

“Give him back the car,” Chrollo says, from way too close by.

Pariston returns the car.

Ging loudly _vroom vrooms_ it around the board at top speed.

Things go fuzzy again after that. Whatever grasp Ging’s alcohol-addled brain had on awareness and consciousness for that moment disappeared for a time once again.

The next thing he somewhat-clearly perceives is Pariston winning Monopoly, the goddamn shit bastard man.

After being officially declared winner, Pariston picks up all of his bills and cascades them down his own mostly-naked body triumphantly. Ging starts yelling at him incoherently and calling him a cheater. Chrollo is crying again, for some reason. Hisoka is sitting in a cardboard box labelled “Gay Baby Jail.” Illumi has probably learned next to nothing about this game.

Beyonce’s “Countdown” starts playing again.

“Playing repeats, Ging?” Pariston remarks snidely. “I would have thought you’d have a better playlist than that.”

Ging realizes that the song is not actually playing from the [[RADIO?? What’s been playing music this whole time lmao]], but from his cell phone, resting on a nearby couch cushion.

It’s his ringtone for Kite.

“Oh, fuck.” Ging fumbles with the phone for a few seconds before remembering that Kite told him explicitly to _stay sober and watch them_ before he left tonight.

He hasn’t been doing either of those things.

He answers anyway. It could be important.

“Hey babe,” he says, trying to make himself sound as sober as possible.

“Ooooh, is that Kite?” Hisoka coos loudly from Gay Baby Jail.

Ging flips him off. “Shut up, fives, a ten is speaking!”

“I’m an eleven, actually,” Kite says smoothly. “I was wondering if it was safe to come home now. Or should I stay out?”

Ging pulls his phone away from his ear long enough to check the time. It’s obscenely late. But he’s also obscenely drunk.

But all the alcohol is just about gone, and he can’t possibly keep them entertained without it.

“How far away are you?”

“Half an hour?”

Ging surveys his surroundings.

Wine on the carpet. Paper towels on the wine. Several drunk adults. Who’ll drive? Illumi’ll be good to go within fifteen minutes. Property damage: minimal. Alcohol cabinet damage: great.

Oh shit. _He himself_ will still be drunk in half an hour. Was he supposed to stay sober?

“Ging?” Kite asks.

The adults in the room look at him, frozen, like they’ve only just remembered that Kite carries a scythe and isn’t afraid to use it.

“Yeah, sure,” Ging finds himself saying.

“Great! See you soon, babe.”

“See you soon, babe,” Ging says cheerfully. He snaps the phone shut. At the top of his voice, he screams, “KITE’S COMING HOME!”

The gang scrambles drunkenly into action. Liquor bottles make their way into a trash can, and also on the side of the trash can, and he watches Pariston put three beer cans in the sink and one in the dishwasher. Hisoka puts an empty can in the fridge.

“Hisoka, that’s fucking garbage,” Ging says.

“I’m saving it for later,” Hisoka insists.

“I watched you drain it three hours ago.”

“ _For later_.”

“Don’t you fucking come _back_ , Kite will _kill you_.”

“Can Kite handle… _this_?” Hisoka says, making his pecs bounce up and down.

“He handled Chrollo’s, and yours ain’t shit compared to those,” Illumi observes.

Chrollo turns in a panic away from the group, walking directly into a wall.

Ging just shrugs. He’d fall prey to those tittums, too, given a chance. _Fall prey_ . He giggles. It’s Chrollo. More like _fall pray_.

Pariston dabs at the wine stain on the carpet. “I need vinegar,” he shrieks. “White. And dish soap!”

Chrollo grabs the soap. Ging grabs the vinegar. They crash into each other as Ging runs for a bowl.

“Put two cups of water in that bowl,” Pariston commands. Ging and Chrollo rush to comply.

They deliver the items to Pariston, who whips the vinegar open, takes a swig, and pours some into the bowl. He looks at the dish soap, and his mouth gets close to it, but apparently decides against it, adding it to the mix.

“Vinegar?” Chrollo asks.

“It’s vinegar, pussy,” Pariston says, mixing his solution with one finger.

Ging leaves him to it. It’s probably his fault anyway. He probably did it on purpose, the fucking jack shit fucker.

Ten minutes later, his house is mostly clean, or at least not uncleanable, or at least mostly presentable, and Hisoka is holding the garbage bag, looking fairly confused about how it got into his hand. Ging is also confused about that.

Illumi is swaying.

“I have 20 minutes to erase all sign of your presence,” Ging says. “I cannot do that with you fuckers around. So: begone, thots!”

Illumi salutes involuntarily.

Ging begins to worry, just a little bit, about their chances of making it home safely, but it’s _Illumi_. Worst comes to worst, he can just pull over for two minutes until his liver works through everything he just put in his body.

He shuffles them out the door, contemplates vacuuming, and passes out facedown on the couch instead.

“Why are there paper towels on the floor?” Kite asks.

Ging shoots to his feet. “Nreason,” he says, stumbling over to stand on the paper towels. “It’s Pariston’s fault.”

“Is there no reason, or is it Pariston’s fault?” Kite says patiently, with his pretty eyes and his gorgeous face.

“Pariston. I love you.”

Kite softens. “I love you too. Is there something under those paper towels that I shouldn’t see?”

Ging bends over, rights himself, tries to pick it up with his toes, and then Kite catches him and loops an arm around his waist.

“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” Kite says, laughing. “ _And_ you can apologize to me for getting drunk.”

“Shit!” Ging exclaims. “I wasn’t supposed to get drunk. You told me not to get drunk!”

“I did,” he says. “I did. I didn’t think you’d manage it, though.”

Ging leans on Kite as they head up the stairs--and then Kite swears, loudly, jostles both of them, and nearly drops Ging. “Why--why is--why is the fucking _Monopoly spindle wheel_ on the _stairs_?”

Ging shrugs innocently. “Dunno,” he says. “I didn’t put it there. I don’t think.”

Kite sighs, hauls him up the stairs, and sticks him in the shower.

It takes a minute, but Ging gets clean, and gets in bed, smiling, happy, having survived another night with his not-friends. He checks his phone and finds a text from Hisoka-- _illumi isn't sober and crashed the car--_ and cuddles into Kite’s arms, and the world fades to a happy black.

**Author's Note:**

> _cant sleep without holding onto a motherfucker_


End file.
